Sam Hurts
by Obi the Kid
Summary: (Season 8) A conversation between Dean and Cas about Sam, leads to a period of bonding for the brothers.


**TITLE**: Sam Hurts

**AUTHOR:** Obi the Kid

**RATING: **PG

**SUMMARY:** (Season 8) A conversation between Dean and Cas about Sam, leads to a period of bonding for the brothers. (Some brotherly fluff)

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of _Supernatural_ do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story. Any typos/errors are all mine!

* * *

"Sam hurts."

"Thanks for that newsflash, Cas."

"Your brother, he spends much of his life in pain."

"Since he was six months old and that demon fried mom on the ceiling. Sammy's been under attack ever since."

"And yet he continues the battle, despite the pain."

"It's the Winchester way, I guess."

"You know that I cannot heal him, Dean. What he suffers is beyond my reach. What these trials are doing to him, I cannot repair the damage."

"So you've said. Thanks."

"And yet you continue to allow him to proceed as if all will be fine in the end."

"What can I tell you? Little brothers are stubborn bastards at times. I'm here. I'll look after him."

"It won't be enough."

"Yeah, well, it's all we got since your angel magic can't help us."

"He is his own responsibility."

"No. He's my brother and that means that some of that responsibility is on me. Always has been. It's what I do. What I've always done. Ain't no changin' me now."

"No, I suspect not. But Sam, he looks up to you. Worries over what you see in him."

"I see a lot of things in Sam. He's a bucket of everything. But whatever these trials are doing to him, he'll get through it. Sam's a tough son of a bitch. I know he'll get there."

"Tough yes, but he hurts, Dean."

"Cas, I know my brother. Okay? You don't think I can see the pain he's in? It's why I wanted the burden of these damn trials to be on me! Sam doesn't need any more pain. He's suffered enough. All he wants that light at the end of the tunnel. Wants it so damn badly…"

"There is no light, Dean. Not with the angel tablet…"

"Don't start, Cas. Please? I can't join your crusade right now. As you just finished explaining, I have problems of my own. Sam needs me here, not out chasing around Heaven or whatever the hell you want to do. So no, okay? Just…no."

"Your brother…you should see to him now."

"What?"

"Sam needs you now, Dean. Right now, he needs you. Go to him."

A confused Dean left Cas in the bunker's map room and hurried down the hall to Sam's bedroom. There, Sam sat on the edge of the mattress, clutching a pillow to his chest and rocking back and forth as would a terrified child.

"Sammy?"

Settling quickly beside him, Dean tried to tug the pillow away from his brother's grasp, but Sam grasped it tighter to him, refusing to let go. The rocking maintained its rhythm.

"Hurts, Dean."

"I know."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head insistently, "You don't. You can't know…how much it hurts. It just…it hurts, Dean."

Sam's words and rocking motion stopped at that last word and he did what Dean hadn't expected, allowing his head to fall onto his big brother's shoulder, and then from that shoulder to Dean's chest. Despite the unforeseen display of need, Dean reacted smoothly, carefully easing Sam to him. Arms wrapped around the large form of his baby brother and that gentle rocking motion began again, this time from the elder Winchester.

An extended period of mumbling started then, Sam confessing to Dean how much he hurt and begging his brother to make it all stop.

"Not much longer, Sammy. One trial left and then maybe we can head for that tunnel light that you're always babbling about, okay? Just one more, little brother. Just one more, and all that hurt is gone."

Even in his state, Sam knew Dean couldn't know the end result of the trials. No one could know that, no matter how close they were to it all. It didn't matter though. Dean could have promised him the moon and at this moment and Sam would've believed him – or at least grabbed onto that promise as tightly as he could. He wanted to believe so badly that shutting the gates of Hell was the answer to all their problems. That it _would_ lead to that light he wanted so desperately to run to. For now, Dean said it would all be okay…so it would.

"Sam hurts," came Cas' voice from the doorway. "Closing off Hell won't change that. That, I do know. Sam's pain lies deeper than something fixed by locking away thousands of demons forever. Only you, Dean. Only you can fix that deeper pain within your brother. I would suggest you not forget that."

A flutter and the angel vanished.

"Cas? Cas? Damn it! Friggin' angels and their friggin' cryptic messages."

Looking down at the form in his arms, Dean realized that Sam had gone quiet.

"Sammy?"

No response. Pulse was okay. Breathing was labored, but also okay. Dean released him, took the pillow from him, and pushed his brother back into his bed. Retrieving a cool wet cloth from the bathroom, he patted Sam's sweaty face and neck, before covering him to his chest in blankets. There he sat on the mattress edge in another one of those all too common, Sam-fights-for-his-life type situations. Just one more attack...Dean had lost count of how many now since that long ago six month birthday. How much could one person take on and still come out vertical and sane?

With a slow sigh, Dean stared fondly – and worriedly - at his only family, uncertain about anything, except needing to take care of his little brother. He tapped a finger to Sam's still hand. Gentle enough to not wake him, but firm enough for Sam to know he was there.

"Not sure what Cas meant with his obscure message there, Sam, but that's kinda par for the course for him anymore. I do I know that you're hurtin', man. I do. And that's probably not enough and I'm sure I don't comprehend the levels of pain, but Sammy, I'm here. To the end of the trials and beyond, whatever that brings. But until then," Dean paused to take a quick grab of the other's hand, "Until that end…we're all we've got and somehow…somehow we'll figure it out."

The resting form stirred and fingers tightened around Dean's hand.

Sam's eyes didn't open, but his face clenched in pain as he repeated his earlier mumbles…"Hurts, Dean."

"I'm here, Sam. Right here, little brother."

The remainder of the night went that way; periods of sleep followed by periods of restless muttering and admittances of pain. Fear came with the pain of course. Not that Sam would ever admit to this whole ordeal scaring the hell out of him, but Dean could hear it in the garbled words. He could feel it in Sam's unusual and demonstrative display of his need for his brother to be near. And for now, the best Dean could do – the only thing he could do – was be there. Wipe the sweat from his brother's face. Keep him warm. Hold his hand. Tell him that everything would be okay in the end, even if he didn't believe it for a second. All that chick-flick crap that he hated so much, but made sometimes exceptions for…when it came to his little brother.

Sam had that affect on him; had always managed to make Dean a better person once their rougher waters had calmed. He kept Dean human. Kept him sane. And when Sam hurt, Dean hurt. It was simply who they were. It was who they always would be.

Six AM and Sam opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the most familiar thing in the world.

"Dean?"

"It hurts, Sam, I know."

"S'better now. Gotta get up."

"No, you don't. You are resting. If you go vertical, you'll just find some excuse to exhaust yourself again."

"I gotta go."

"Go where, Sam? We don't know the next trial yet. Where the hell you gonna go?"

"Dean…"

"No. I just spent eight hours awake watching over you, man. I'm tired. I need sleep, which means, you are confined to your room."

"Then pass me a bucket."

"A what? You're not gonna puke are you?"

"No."

"Then what…oh…ah, sorry. Pee break?"

Sam's smirked glare was his response.

"Sorry, man! I figured you sweated it all out last night. Can you stand?"

"You are so not following me into the bathroom, Dean."

"It's not what I meant, smart ass."

Shaky legs off the bed and holding position vertical…Sam tried three times to fall over. And three times Dean prevented the Leaning Tower of Sam from crashing to the ground. They did make it to the small bathroom eventually.

"Do me a favor and don't fall over one you're in there. Last thing I need is for you to bash your head against the sink and need a rack of stitches. And for crap sake, man, comb your damn hair. Looks like a mop exploded. In the mean time, you need to eat. I'll make you some breakfast. Want some breakfast? And your sheets here, sweating all over them last night. Guess I'll wash 'em. I'd have you do it, but it might take you a day to walk from here to the laundry room and we just don't have that kinda time, Sam. Eggs? I can make them nice and bland so you can't taste them. Just to get something into your system. You have to eat it though, all right? Because we're not doing the whole not eating thing anymore. You can't stick a fork in this Hell thing without using the damn fork to eat first. Got it? Eggs. Toast. Some OJ. Oh and sorry about that whole peanut butter cup and jerky deal before. Although it was hilariously funny."

Sam returned from the bathroom, looking the same battered wreck that he did when he'd gone in.

"Sam, the mop thing? Remember?"

There was a return snort and a "Shut up" that followed.

Dean took an elbow and they moved out of the bedroom into the hall. "Pain good?"

"Okay. Still hurts though."

"Yeah, well, we'll figure it out. We're Winchesters, right? It's what we do."

"We screw up a lot of things too, Dean."

"And _that_ is also what Winchesters do. We're a multitalented family that way."

The brothers paused in the hall for Sam to force down an echo of pain, holding a hand out, searching for stability. Dean was there and was quiet until he knew Sam was able to move again.

"We're getting towards the end of this thing, Sammy. Tunnel. Light. All that crap, right?" Sam responded with a half hearted nod and a staggered step to the right. Dean caught him and kept him up. "Come on, little brother. There's not much I can do for how crappy you feel, but I _can_ make you breakfast. I _can _take care of you. Okay?"

Sam pained a sad smile in the other's direction. "Yeah. That sounds good, Dean."

* * *

The End


End file.
